


An Urgent Need for Ruin

by Ink_Vein



Category: Original Work
Genre: Francis/Frank is the actual main character, Grief, Never forgiving yourself, Other, Suicide, THIS NOVEL DEALS WITH HEAVY STUFF, The usual graphics and grit that are essential to my writing, Toni is grown up and writing this years after she's come to terms with everything that's happened, Toni is just telling his story, just a warning, the subtlety of self-destruction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-08-02 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16310048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ink_Vein/pseuds/Ink_Vein
Summary: Most regrets come in two flavours: "Why did I do that?" or "Why didn't I do that?" But what about when you never noticed something? Something so obvious and that would haunt you for years to come.I've been silent for years, but Frank's story needs to be told.Maybe then I can forgive myself.





	1. Prologue: The End is the Beginning

It was a shady-looking house on a lonely-looking dirt road, but it housed one of the most influential people in my life. Frank Gauthier had so much to share in his short life, so much to teach our small town in Louisiana. His life was cut short by a series of events even I don't understand to this day, and it's because he's no longer alive that I'm the one penning these words instead of him.

Yes, I'll tell you right off the bat that Frank dies in this story, but his message doesn't end there. In fact, most of his story was revealed to me after his death in a way only he could have planned for. I'm not talking séances or some voodoo ritual if that's what y'all are thinking. No, Frank was artistic enough to plan ahead and leave behind a legacy only I was ever supposed to know. At least, until I decided to write down his story.

I had lived next to him for as long as I could remember, but I realized I knew almost nothing about him until the day he died. The point he was trying to make -- and the one I'm somehow trying to show through this whole rambling thing -- is that your message doesn't end after death. In fact, it continues long after you're six-feet-under. It lives on in the ones you held dear and the ones that held you dear.   
Frank's message was that the book doesn't end after the surprise twist:  _ that _ is when the book truly begins.


	2. The One When Nothing Happens, Really

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And then there was me. I preferred not to speak at all, and to do so was exhausting. Most kids had some traumatic and sympathy-inducing reason they swore themselves to silence, but my only reason was the opinion that it wasn’t worth wasting my oxygen on.

__ _ The timer struck one minute. _ All around me was chaos. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and focused on the red, blue, and green wires in front of me. I honestly had no idea what I was doing, yet I had somehow been stuck with this job instead of a bomb squad. I had to be: they wouldn’t get here in time.   
Was it like in the movies? Red wire? I highly doubted that. Would it be wrong to wish I were colourblind so I could make the decision easier on myself? Wiping sweat again. My word, this was difficult. The alarm blaring from the bomb as it ticked down wasn’t helping my thought process either. Shut up so I can think! Okay, okay. Green? Green. Definitely green. It had to be. The blue was just too obvious. Right? Twenty seconds. Nineteen. Okay! Okay, okay! Green. Cutting the green. And the alarm was still screaming. Ohhhh, boy… Well, at least we all weren’t blown up. Blue, then? Cutting the blue. Annnnd more screaming. Really? It was the red? With a snap, the red wire frayed, too. And yet, that blasted alarm was still screaming. It made no sense. The timer had frozen at fourteen seconds, so there was no threat there, but why hadn’t the screaming alarm stopped? Abandoning all rational thought (possibly because I was too busy panicking to stay sane) I ripped the bomb from its confines and smashed it on the concrete below me.   
From its scattered remains came a continuous blaring.   
I turned to the crowd that had gathered around, searching their bewildered faces for an answer, when from a businessman’s mouth belted out in a gruff but most certainly female Cajun drawl, “Get cho butt outta dat bed ‘fore I get da ice.”   
Before I could even wonder if this could get any stranger, the screaming of the bomb remains got louder…and closer.   
  
Everything quickly snapped into focus in my murky brain: the screaming alarm pressed to my cheek, held by the businessman who was, in fact, my mother.   
“'M up, ‘m up…” I mumbled, slapping lazily in what I thought was probably her general direction.   
“Ya betta be, afta all dat screamin’. T’ought I was gon’ hafta drag yeh ta school in yeh jammies. Put sunglasses ova yeh eyes ‘n’ make the ‘scuse yah head was achin’…” Mom rambled on while I slowly sat up, stretched, and pretended to rifle through the stack of clothes on the chest at the foot of my bed. I’d probably just pick up a semi-clean shirt from the floor of my room and rattle through the laundry for a pair of jeans that didn’t reek. C’mon, don’t tell me any other almost-fourteen-year-old wouldn’t do the same. I mean, it’s not like I had anyone to impress.

Anyway, I was used to Mom rambling like this. Usually, she spoke more proper, but around me, and especially in the mornings, some of the true Cajun within escaped. It only ever fully escaped when she was angry or excited, and then she was near impossible to understand. Mom was the talkative one in our family. She was the social make-friends-with-everyone one. Dad was average when it came to socializing: talk about the weather, politics, and the latest football game, go to every get-together and certainly every one of my school’s games. My brother tended to stick to his video games, comics, and playing games in his room with his overactive imagination. We pretended not to exist to each other at school, so I wasn’t sure what friends he had, if any.   
And then there was me. I preferred not to speak at all, and to do so was exhausting. Most kids had some traumatic and sympathy-inducing reason they swore themselves to silence, but my only reason was the opinion that it wasn’t worth wasting my oxygen on. In fact, the only reason I’d spoken a drowsy “I’m up” to my mom was that speaking was so rare for me that it would make her stop. Well, that and the fact that being half-asleep made my resignation from speaking not make much sense at the time. Either way, those were probably the only two words my mom would hear from me today.   
Soon, Mom left the room still rambling to herself, which was a usual thing; so I let myself fall back on my bed, groaning. School… They never tolerated my vow of silence there. I had to speak when called on, even when I didn’t raise my hand. It was torture! Didn’t they understand I could be saving the precious energy I was exhausting on moving my lips and working my larynx and concentrating my brain on the act of forcing words out of my silent mouth on something more constructive? Regardless, I loved school because I loved learning, so I could tolerate speaking every now and then when I was in danger of ruining my learning if I didn’t. The screaming of my alarm again threw me into action and I narrowly avoided hurling it across the room.   
  
Breakfast was a quiet affair. Well, at least on my part. Mom sat across our oaken table, filling out her crosswords. It was when Mom was quietest. Well, mostly. It didn’t stop her from muttering to herself and commenting now and then on the funnies when she took a “brain break.” I couldn’t hear most of it, though, since I was too busy gulping down my second cup of coffee (black, of course) and crunching strip after strip of bacon.   
Still zombie-like, I headed to my room to “pick out” my clothes. Like I said, semi-clean shirt and the least-funky jeans I had. This happened to be a faded yellow sweater and jeans with shredded and muddied cuffs. With a few puffs of a fruity perfume my aunt got me for my birthday they at least smelled presentable. C’mon, you can’t say you never did that, too.   
By the time I had brushed my teeth, foregone makeup, and headed into the den, Mom was already waiting (somehow) and ready to drive me to school. This was something she insisted on and, even though it meant withstanding her constant word-storm, it was still time with my mom.   
She was barkeep at a shoddy watering hole just out of town, so I guess it was her job to make conversation. The actual owner of the bar was an elderly Creole named Vincent Dupart who’d been a family friend as long as I could remember. His face was weathered and sported long laugh lines since he was always smiling. Atop his head sat a small mess of grey curls with few remnants of his natural black. He seemed like he’d have the kind of voice you’d hear singing “What a Wonderful World;” and if his stories of New Orleans jazz held any truth, he probably had. However, this man was far-too-apparently racing toward his last days. He’d already squared away any qualms about the future ownership of the bar: my mom was the only one he felt was worthy of it. But with about the same amount of pay and more work to do, then by herself and grieving, it wouldn’t be much of a promotion.   
We reached school a few minutes later, signalled by Mom shaking me from my daydreams and rambling on about focus and promptness. She stifled me in a hug and pushed me out the now-open car door, but not before fixing my hair and fussing over my clothes. Oh, did I mention it was the first day? Of high school, in fact. But I’d endured eight other first days already and it was always the same. This “life-changing moment” had just about as much effect on me as the last few thousand. The car sped off, I readjusted my backpack, and my ratty sock-and-sandal-clad feet led me into the long halls of the next four years of my life.   
  
You probably know how high school goes, so I won’t bore you with the details. Nothing significant happened, I wasn’t bullied, it wasn’t different, and certainly no one new was there that stared at me mysteriously from across the cafeteria. It was the old small town repertoire of “I know everyone; everyone knows me.” And I had no problem with it. It was cozy.   
I’ll tell you what was significant, though. A moment when Fate shoved her grubby hands into my lifeline and screwed with everything: Taking out the trash.   
Okay, okay, don’t laugh. It’s little insignificant excruciatingly mundane tasks like this that contain some of the unexpected in life. A lot of “life-changing moments” don’t happen in some outrageous off-the-wall way, but play peek-a-boo in your boring moments. At least that’s my theory. But you don’t have to listen to my rambles. I’ll just continue with the story.   
It was now, while taking out the trash tonight, that Fate decided to flick the first of many in a line of dominoes. I was struggling with the obviously overloaded black bag (a reminder that I needed to keep up with my chores more often); hair back in a headband, which made me look like Mufasa; no makeup, and wearing, admittedly embarrassing, pink plaid pyjama pants and a random '80s band sweatshirt that my mom had passed down. It was halfway in my trek to the too-far trash can that I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. I almost dropped the trash bag. No, it wasn’t because he was gorgeous or I was starstruck or anything stupid like that: it was the pure shock and bolt of fear that “What the crap?! There’s a man at the house next door!” The abandoned house, I might add. And not a man, a boy. No one with a face that boyish could be any older than fifteen. And yet, there he was, leaning against the creaky old house with a trail of sickly gray spiralling up from the cigarette between his lips.   
Great! He’d caught sight of me. Rather than freeze up like a deer with the old adage of “Make no sudden movements," I hobbled myself over to the trashcan, deposited my burden, and scurried off like a guilty dog into the house before Stranger Danger could even think of waving or uttering the dreaded “hi.”


	3. The One with Striking Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shower still hammered on indifferently and the shampoo I had just lathered up ran down my forehead to sit in my eye, which I'd probably regret for the next few minutes. I was frozen in place, fingers still tangled in my blonde mane as the world kept moving.

Okay, that was weird, right? I mean, it's not like he was going to rule my thoughts the rest of the day or anything; it was just strange to see someone at that house, that's all. He was probably just a squatter or just needed somewhere to smoke. He'd be gone tomorrow.   
And I was right. Tomorrow morning when I left for school, he was nowhere to be seen. There were no lights on inside and no car in the driveway. Stranger Danger wouldn't be bothering me anymore.   
  
Another day of high school trudged on. My verbs for such would be a lot more cheerful (since I put a lot of weight on my education) if it weren't for the fact that we had gotten past the awkward first day. This meant that all teachers were now gunning for the students least wanting to participate, which happened to include me. It's not like I didn't know the answers or didn't care. I did. It's just, you know, I didn't talk. But in our teachers' quest to make sure we were as successful in life as possible, I guess they tended to ignore such trivial things. So I didn't really have anything to hold against them. Bummer. Irritation's much easier to channel when you have a source.   
Am I rambling again? I'm rambling again. See, that tends to happen when you keep your mouth shut. If only I were as conservative with my brain waves as I was with my oxygen.   
Did I mention I was walking home now? Probably not. Well I was. My backpack was digging into my right shoulder and making that side of my neck ache like nobody's business. Okay, I guess that's one thing that was different about high school: I had a heavier bag and a whole crapload more of books/homework. See, 'cause not only were there textbooks, but workbooks and notebooks and second-semester books that they decided to hand out already. I swear English had five in and of itself. We were supposed to shove all these extra books into the back of our locker for when, if ever, we needed them. But our never-upgraded lockers and rusty locks weren't very trusty. So I'd probably just dump them in my room where I most likely wouldn't be able to find them when I did need them.   
I switched my backpack to my left shoulder and stretched, irritated with the weight but glad I wouldn't have to carry this much again. Okay, maybe it wasn't just the weight that was bothering me. I had already been pretty irritated by being forced to abuse my dead-to-the-world voice box. Maybe I could make the excuse that I was sick so that I wouldn't have to talk. My voice croaked when I rarely used it, so it'd be easy enough to parlay that into a cold. The only problem would be how long that could hold out: I'd have to "get better" sometime. But I'd deal with that when I got there.   
Did I mention the walk was pretty long, too? There was a reason Mom drove me. Any other person wouldn't ever dare to lug my overloaded backpack the distance I was, but I would only have to look around me to be reminded why I did. I loved Moss Bluff. I loved its scenery. I loved its ambiance. I loved the small town feel. It was so beautiful and comforting. I know I'd never last in the city, where I couldn't see the clear skies or hear nature around me or walk down the street without fear. And unlike everyone else, I was content right where I was at. I never planned to leave Moss Bluff.   
A cough that was most definitely not part of nature's sounds made me drop my backpack on my foot as I spun toward the source. (That level of clumsiness deserved some kind of award.) "Sawry... Smokah's lung," came a deeply-ingrained Louisiana drawl, slightly muffled by something between their teeth. Stranger Danger looked like some mafia lord with his cigarette hanging lazily as he leaned against that same abandoned house. But the cigarette lacked the intimidation a cigar would have had and his baby face didn't help that much.   
Great! He was going to try to start a conversation. My oxygen was a precious resource and he wasn't going to steal it! Once again, I scrambled to get in the house; but less like a guilty dog and more like Tom Sawyer's cat.   
Of course, as I shut myself up in my room, I couldn't deny the fact that my window gave me a perfect view of the corner he was leaning on. I may have looked, just a little. And that little bit of time was just enough for me to notice the puffy chocolate hair that framed his boyish face like lion’s mane and a bit of colour on his neck that peeked out underneath.   
Okay, so I was completely wrong. He either really liked smoking here or was a squatter. My second quick look to see if he was gone confirmed the latter: he walked into the house. I didn't know what I was doing until my face hit my comforter. So... I had Stranger Danger scaring the living crap out of me for the rest of my life to look forward to.   
  
The next few months were just as fun as I thought they would be. I even got to the point when I dreaded chores or even walking outside for fear of encountering that demon again. I even started taking the long(er) route home. I argued with myself again and again about calling the police to report a squatter, but my refusal to let him know just how much he got under my skin kept me from doing so. Plus, I was sure the cops had better things to do than cater to my paranoia. It didn't keep me from being forced to see him, though. I still had chores and he still had annoying perfect timing to be outside right when I had to be. Every time I saw him I just got angrier. He would never get me to work my vocal chords. He wasn't worth wasting my oxygen on.   
Today wasn't any different. The trash was full yet again and I had no excuse not to take it out. Mom was still at work, Dad was relaxing after unloading groceries, and Jordan was in his room doing who-knows-what. I heaved the flimsy white monstrosity out of the can and after shaking it down tried to fill the rest of it with other small trashcans around the house. Once I thought the thin plastic couldn't possibly hold any more, I tied it up and wrapped the handles around my wrists. Now for the hard part. Getting it the short distance between the kitchen and front door was no problem. Opening the front door, hobbling to the trash can, and struggling to lift it in there was, of course. I could barely lift this thing out of the can. (Now, I am not weak. Don't be thinking for one second I am. Even grown men struggle with garbage bags. ...I think.) I looked at Dad for reassurance; maybe I could pawn this off on him. I was really not in the mood to brave Stranger Danger coolly eying me as I made a fool of myself. Let him suffer my dad's small talk. But of course, Dad was already passed out in our recliner.   
Crapzilla.   
So I struggled with the front door and waddled out onto my battlefield. I was planning just to do this as fast as I could with little to no collateral damage, but I couldn't help myself. Slowly, I lowered the bag just below my eyes to peer at my neighbour's yard. Well actually, more specifically, a particular corner of the house. That was unoccupied. No combat inevitable. That cauldron of anxiety bubbling over in my stomach abruptly died. I let out a sigh of relief I didn't know I'd been holding and readjusted the bag. Finally, some quiet. I could take out the trash in peace.   
The bag was ripping; I could feel it. Only a few more steps to the rusty can. I just kept hoping the bag would hold out that long. Setting it down and twirling the ties once again around my wrist, I set off toward the can at a faster pace, feeling it slowly give. C'mon... Just a bit closer...   
Yes! In one fell swoop, I meant to swing the bag over the top but only managed to get it halfway. Darn it! Get in there! In the midst of my struggling, through the rattling of the bag, I somehow heard the tell-tale creak and hiss and slam of a screen door. And I knew exactly where that sound had come from. Oh heck! Not NOW!   
"'Ey, Toni!" a voice called out, but his drawl made it sound more like "toenail." That was the least of my worries. Apparently, the trash bag was as shocked as I was because suddenly garbage was shooting out of both ends: rocketing up from the top and plopping down on my shoes from the tear in the bottom. I didn't dare look at Stranger Danger's face; just threw the almost-empty bag in the can and walked as casually as I could through the wreckage of my battlefield to the house.   
Of course, NOW my dad was awake. "What happened?" boomed his deep, gruff voice as if he actually expected me to waste oxygen explaining my embarrassment. I just threw a nonchalant thumb behind me and shut the door before trudging off to the bathroom. Let him deal with that devil next door. Maybe he could scare him off; my dad was pretty intimidating. There was no way I was facing Stranger Danger again until I was good and ready; which, if I was honest with myself, would be never.

I threw my garbage-covered clothes to the tile floor and ran the shower as hot as it could go: I wasn't taking any chances with any garbage that got on me. I stepped into the lava rain and began to pick the bigger pieces off my arms and disentangle them from my long hair. I'd clean these up later. All that mattered now was getting clean. I could already feel some old soda drying into a sticky paste between my fingers. Mom had most likely cleaned through Jordan's hermit-hole recently. As I scrubbed hard at my arms and face, that had gotten the brunt of the blast, the water eventually cooled down to a normal temperature and began to relax the tension built up.   
Stranger Danger was going to be here no matter what, so I'd just have to learn how to deal. I was just groaning over the futility of this when a realization hit me out of the blue. Seriously. I wasn't even thinking about our recent encounter. The shower still hammered on indifferently and the shampoo I had just lathered up ran down my forehead to sit in my eye, which I'd probably regret for the next few minutes. I was frozen in place, fingers still tangled in my blonde mane as the world kept moving.   
He knew my name.


	4. The One with Effective Time-lapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This went on for the next three years. I kid you not, years. Freshman, sophomore, and junior years.

He. Knew. My. Name. How the HECK did he know my name? Don't get me wrong; weird things happened in Louisiana all the time. Superstition ran rampant, supplying the demand for all the psychics and voodoo practitioners. But whoever Stranger Danger really was, he didn't seem like any kind of spiritualist, just a creeper. The kind you wouldn't want to encounter walking down the street, whether night or day. And he lived next door. And knew my name.   
I was in trouble. Lots of trouble. Was it even safe to sleep tonight? And even if it was, how  _ could _ I sleep knowing there was a creeper who knew my name next door?   
Okay, okay. Maybe I just hadn't heard him right. He could have easily actually said "toenail," right? That sounds sooo stupid... Or, or maybe he just overhead my mom or dad. That's possible, right? Except that's even scarier! Ohhhh, heck. Who lived next to us?!   
The shower had now become lukewarm on the verge of pure freezing. I had no idea I had been in that long. My dad must be wondering what in the world happened because I rarely took showers this long. Let him wonder. This required lots of thought. I slid down the bathroom wall until I was sitting on the grimy floor still littered with garbage bits. I still hadn't rinsed the soap in my hair and eyes. Which was a huge mistake. My eyes were burning right out of my head but I could care less. How HOW in the world was I supposed to react to him knowing my name? I still didn't even know his! And even if I did, he'd still be Stranger Danger. He just wasn't the type of guy you'd ever want to be stuck around. He had pedophile-rapist-kidnapper-creepy guy written all over him. And he wasn't even middle-aged! Imagine how creepy he'd be then! And it wasn't like he was unattractive or weird-looking or anything. He just...He just put off that whole vibe that just creeped with you.   
Soon, the water hitting me was like freezing hail, so I slowly rose to turn it off. I left my hair sticky with soap: I'd wash it when the water was a reasonable temperature. Instead, I donned my garbage-covered clothes (I'd be taking another shower soon anyway) and trudged out of the bathroom and passed Dad grumbling about " _ seems _ like a nice boy" ( **Really?!** Could no one else feel the creepy?!) and headed into my room. Which, of course, had the curtain open. And, of course, I had to get up and close it. Down by that corner of the house I couldn't help but check by habit stood a chuckling teenage boy just stamping out his cigarette. And just before I had closed my curtain all the way, with perfect timing he looked up to flash me a mocking grin.   
So not only did he know my name, but now he was mocking me. Great... Great! Life after this was going to be swell.   
  
This went on for the next three years. I kid you not,  **years** . Freshman, sophomore, and junior years. During that time, it goes without saying that he learned my schedule. Whether unintentionally or by studying me like he always had, that was still creepy in and of itself. So sometimes I tried varying it: I tried different, shorter routes home (when I was walking); I took out the garbage and checked the mail at different times every day; and so on. That even managed to throw him off a few times. But usually, he still had that annoyingly perfect timing and could still catch me. Surely he had more to accomplish in life than creeping on the girl next door, right? Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good question to think about. All in all, though, I'd managed to grow pretty indifferent about Stranger Danger. It was too exhausting to worry about and he knew I'd never break my vow of silence, so that wasn't threatened anymore. Which is why I was on the porch swing right now, just listening to the ever-present ambiance of Moss Bluff. I didn't need a book or music or anything to keep me occupied; nature was a lot more interesting than anyone gave it credit for. Yes, I was outside. And no, I wasn't worried about or looking out for Stranger Danger. I was that indifferent now. He may as well have not even existed. Okay, maybe that was exaggerating. But I  _ was _ indifferent.  _ So _ indifferent that I barely even noticed when he came outside or even cared when he yelled "Hi!" in the most annoying way possible and waved.   
The Sunday evening sun was blanketing my porch and yard in pinks, reds, oranges, and gold, and the spring breeze was lifting tufts of my bright hair to throw back into my face. I just quietly laughed it off: the wind was childish in that way. And no, I didn't notice Stranger danger coolly studying me, cigarette hanging between two skeleton fingers. And no, I didn't pretend not to hear him muttering to himself, wisps of smoke puffing out from his teeth every time he spat a word. Why would I? I was indifferent.   
I threw my head back into the porch swing with a groan. Okay, maybe I wasn't so indifferent. Maybe I was hell-bent on studying his every move like he did mine. But not because he was mysterious or even the least bit interesting or appealing. He wasn't the brooding Byronic hero of some cut-rate romance novel: he was creepy to the extreme. So creepy that you had to be paranoid enough to be alert to his every move. And maybe I just wanted to get back at him. Maybe I wanted him to notice me studying him like a creeper and ask why and I would unload the last three years of hell upon him...without wasting any oxygen. ...Okay, so that would backfire on me. Who knows why I was doing it? My eyes betrayed me over and over and refused not to be focused on him, like some sick way of keeping me on my toes.   
All right. That's it. Day ruined. I'm going inside.  _ Thank you _ , Stranger Danger. Huffing, I rose from the patio bench swing (it's like a tradition in the South to have one of those) and trudged my way inside. Of course, as soon as I got in I was almost trampled.   
What? Mom was supposed to be off today.   
My big-boned, ruddy mother was sprinting around like a chicken with its head cut off. She was supposed to be relaxing since Vincent had insisted he take that night himself and she get some well-earned rest. But here she was, running about, throwing her uniform together and grabbing her keys and a Tupperware of leftover scalloped potatoes.   
I managed to finally grab her and fix her with a skeptical look and raised eyebrow. Her hair was frizzed and sticking up all over her hurriedly fixed ponytail, a sign that she didn't have time to even dry or brush her hair. She was barely mumbling, too, which was a dead giveaway that something was horribly wrong. My mom was the extreme opposite of me, so for her  _ not _ to talk, just like for me  _ to _ talk, it meant something wildly important was going on.   
Finally, my staring wore her down enough for her almost-watery eyes to meet mine. "Vincent," she eventually grumbled. Then her face hardened as she snapped out the rest. "Idjit wen' ta work all by hisself today. Who'da thought da Lawd's Day woulda ended up bringin' the rowdiest buncha scum to pop'late dis earth? Dang moron jus' 'bout kicked da bucket from pure exhaustion an' doggone stress. Was too moronic to e'en call me neither! Ended up bein' a customer as let me know. Kind soul even helped 'im kick 'em out an' lock up 'til I got there. 'E brought 'im home and demanded 'e rest. I demand 'e keep restin'! Ain't no business working yo'self to da grave! I done TOLD 'im dis!" She was too angry to go on, but years of not talking gave us powers to read each other clearly, so I knew she still had more to say. And I knew it concerned me. "As a result, ya know I can't keep takin' ya ta school," she finally breathed out. (Yes, Mom was still driving me to school. And yes, a junior in high school should have their driver's license. And I did. But having one wasn't much use when your parents need their cars on a regular basis. So Mom dropped me off at school and picked me up when she could so that she had the car.) I knew this. It was a given. I was fully prepared to start taking the bus or walking to and from school but what Mom said next submarined all that. "But den Francis offered ta take you."   
I...had never known a Francis in my life. Why then would Mom agree to them taking me to school? Okay, so maybe wasting oxygen just this once wouldn't hurt. After all, it was kinda important to know who I'd be stuck in a car with. But I didn't even need to waste any because Mom could already read the "Francis?" in my expression. "Francis," she repeated, like all people do when they think repetition will magically awaken a memory you probably don't even have. "Francis Gautier[Go-tee-ay]? That Frank boy next door?"   
It took only the two seconds before I registered that to decide to heck with sacred oxygen. Self-destruct in 3...2...1. "I don't even KNOW him! I can take the bus. I can walk. I can make friends solely for the purpose of carpooling. Anything better than being trapped inside a car with a CREEPER!" Fortunately, my voice box performed perfectly and emphasized all the correct words without croaking, leaving a nice echo as a remnant of what I'd just done.   
Unfortunately, Mom's mood left her not the least bit deterred by my reaction. In fact, it backfired, if her smirk had anything to say about this, probably because she thought my talking was a good thing.   
"Toni, stop bein' so melod'matic. You've known Francis since you was a young’un. Surely ya got ta 'member him. Either way, y’all’ll get ta know each other again. An' 'e ain't much a talker neither, so y'all should get along just fine." With that, she readjusted the things in her arms and walked out the door, leaving me sputtering more questions.   
School started back on Tuesday, so I had two days to mentally prepare myself. Two days... Scratch that; one, because the sun was already set. I had one day to mentally prepare myself for being locked up in a moving vehicle that could practically take me anywhere with Stranger Danger. One day. It would take an eternity to prepare myself. I needed an eternity and I had  **one day** .   
  
  
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_ _   
_ __ __ You'll excuse my spewing of hatred and distrust and the boring route this story seems to never be able to get off of. But it's important for you to understand who Frank was and who I was and the circumstances of our "meeting" for the rest to make sense. Now I look back on those days with hatred and disgust of my mindset and a clear understanding of just why Frank put off such a palpable bubble of creepiness. Bear with me. I can't guarantee the writing gets better, but I can guarantee the introduction ends soon. Just know that it is just as crucial as the story itself.


	5. The One When Toni's A Brat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel it beneficial to tell you I'm currently in my late twenties while writing this. I look back on these adolescent years and realize what a snob I was and a poor judge of character (even though, in my defense, Frank continued to have that creepy aura the whole rest of his life.)

Monday was uneventful. I couldn't even relax outside for fear of having to face Stranger Danger tomorrow. Why in the world would he offer to take me to school? That was the question I tried to avoid answering all day. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to know the inner workings of his mind. I didn't want to know him. I wanted to move far away where his predator eyes couldn't track me. I wanted to sneak off to school for the rest of this year. I wanted to never go outside again.   
It was inevitable, though. Whatever I figured, there was still no feasible way to avoid him completely. And Mom expected us to be friends. Again, I might add. Old friends or not, there was no way I was even attempting to communicate with him. Mom better be right about him never talking like me. He wasn't even getting a look from me.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   
  
_ Bear with me. You'll only have to endure a bit more of this. I had such a disgusting attitude back then. And even though I'd love to portray myself as a kind soul who accepted Frank right away, I need to be as true as possible, even if it doesn't make me look so good. _ _   
_ __ __ I feel it beneficial to tell you I'm currently in my late twenties while writing this. I look back on these adolescent years and realize what a snob I was and a poor judge of character (even though, in my defence, Frank continued to have that creepy aura the whole rest of his life.) Maybe I can skip just a bit, just to keep from boring you or offending you further. Maybe it'd just be better to skip to Tuesday morning. Are you alright with that?   
  


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This was it. This was the morning I would be stuck in a car with Stranger Danger. It wasn't a sarcastic nickname anymore: it was the very concept of him. I was 100% sure there'd be a search party out within the next 48 hours, scouring the swamps for my mangled body, while Frank would be nowhere to be found. I was that sure of who he really was. Childhood friend or not, I still knew nothing about who he was now.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
 _Funny how those two kinds of things completely contradict each other. You're so sure of who someone really is, but it's because you_ **don't** _know them that makes you so sure. Following that train of thought can be so dizzying, but comes completely naturally to us humans and even animals. The unknown is foreign and therefore inherently evil. This was one of the many lessons about humanity that even simply Frank's existence taught me, and something I've lived much better from counteracting._  
  


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I got ready far too early and in a hurry, because I couldn't stand one more second memorizing my ceiling when I obviously wouldn't get back to sleep. I did everything but brush my teeth, and managed to do so slow enough that there was only an hour or so left before I would leave for school. So I chose my breakfast slowly as Jordan finally decided to come alive and creak open his door before stumbling into the bathroom. I would have laughed if I wasn't so scared.   
Reviewing my options again, I quickly made myself some cereal and crunched on it almost mechanically. Was there anything, ANYTHING, I could do to avoid this? I could play sick... but 1) it was very unlike me to miss school 2) we had just come off a three-day weekend, and 3) both these things would make Mom and Dad skeptical. Okay... Option 2: I could sneak off to school before Fr---Stranger Danger could pick me up. Of course, this option would do me more harm than good. Either Stranger Danger would tell Mom or she would ask us both how it went. Option 3: I could just out-and-out avoid all of this by walking; just defy it to the end. That should work, right? Either way, it was really the only option.   
Determined now, I threw my cereal bowl in the sink (and I mean that literally: I threw it in there. But I didn't hear crashing, so I guess that's good.) and raced up the stairs to get ready. I brushed my teeth like a madman and then took the stairs by twos back down. Swinging my hardly-full backpack on my shoulder, I marched confidently out the door.   
  
I may have spent the last three years wondering how Stranger Danger was going to get me and every which way he could murder me, but I'd also somewhat gained more confidence. Even though it felt like there was no escape, there was no way I wasn't fighting 'til the end. He'd have to fight just as hard.   
Confidence wasn't the only thing I had gained during these past years. I now had somewhat of a sense of style that didn't involve raiding the laundry or a fruity smell to cover up a funk. And, admittedly, I kind of prided myself on that change. It showed maturity and effort, at least in my eyes.

Speaking of maturity, I was much gaunter and lankier than before. My face was basically stretched across my skull rather than having that girly chubbiness to it. My hair had also gotten lighter and longer. It was still very dull and thin, but now fair enough to almost be white. Said frail curtain stretched down past my elbows and covered my face most of the time. It was easy to hide behind and, although I wasn't shy, I usually preferred to. If you looked unapproachable, people usually assumed you were and left you alone. I had also somewhat grown into my disproportionate feline features. My face had always been kind of disproportionate, or at least that's what I'd been told. It's what happens when you inherit your dad's slender chin and small mouth and your mom's wide head and prominent cheekbones. All in all, I wasn't exactly ugly, but I wouldn't call myself gorgeous. I guess you could say there was some natural beauty hidden deep, deep in there somewhere. But you'd be overestimating me: I was just average. And I was okay with that.   
I had already passed Fr---Stranger Danger's house and was strolling down the road without a care. Defiance never felt so good. I would literally do a happy dance if I made it all the way to the school, especially if I could see Stranger Danger's pissed-off face.  _ That _ would definitely be something to celebrate.   
  
My pride and happiness had just about boiled over. I was only about two miles from the school and I'd opted to taking a longer, lonelier path so I could enjoy my freedom without cars speeding past. It was nice, just to be able to think and relax after all the stress. And if I kept up this defiant act, maybe I could just keep walking to school or hitch a ride with Jordan's carpool and embarrass him. Mom would eventually give in when she figured out making me go with Frank -- Stranger Danger! Not Frank! -- was more trouble than it was worth. I did feel kind of bad for giving Mom trouble when she already had so much going on. But this wasn't a matter of pride, like she thought it was: I was saving her the death of a daughter in the long run.   
I was about to the middle of this lonely stretch of road when I heard an engine puttering along behind me. Before I could figure out whether it was passing or turning in a driveway, it stopped.  _ That's kinda strange _ , I thought, and before I could even think anything else, two arms crushed my waist from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.   
I froze.  _ I'm going to die I'm going to die _ , is all I kept thinking. My feet rose up from the pavement as my captor grunted with effort to lift me. It wasn't until I saw the truck he was about to stuff me in that my body finally woke up. I screeched, struggling, before realizing I was on a long, almost-empty road....by my own choice.  _ You didn't think that maybe JUST MAYBE someone might follow you? Why'd you pick an empty road?! _ is what I probably would have yelled at myself if I wasn't so busy trying to figure out how I was going to get away. As the passenger seat loomed closer, I finally thought to use the heels of my sneakers. My legs thrashed back and forth wildly, and on the backswing one heel managed to catch right under his knee while the other nailed his crotch. With a howl of pain he went down, but not before shoving me into the car. I dove out the car door, but he had already gotten back up. I was met with Frank's hand clenching my shoulder and his face in mine. Of course it was Frank; that didn't shock me at all. But it was a very good thing because then I could put the past three years of fear and anger into what I was about to do. Abruptly, I turned from his predator eyes and bit deep into his hand, possibly taking a chunk. But instead of this going how I planned, he poured his anger into almost slamming the door on my legs. By reflex, I pulled them in.   
And then I was trapped.   
Quickly, he walked around to his side, making sure the whole time that I wasn't unlocking the truck. I wasn't fast enough to lock his side and escape out of mine.

He climbed in the driver's seat, started the car and locked it, and grumbled under his breath, "GAWD, yer difficult."   
And that was that.


	6. The One with Deep Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all like to think in some life-or-death situation we'd be the noble main character, but maybe we're all just the extras that are picked off one by one. Maybe we're all just cowards.

I won't say I didn't think of throwing myself out the car door. I did. Again and again. It was the afterthought of my brains and guts smeared across the asphalt that froze my hand on the door handle. Or I could survive the drop and end up knocking myself out, only making this easier for him. Or I could survive the fall, not knock myself out, still be hurt though, and run... And he would be in a car.   
Don't call me a coward. I was already afraid for my life. It was just a question of was I willing to end it myself or let him do it for me. And I caved. Was I brave enough to make him crash the truck and probably not stagger away from the crash? Was I willing to kill someone, no matter how evil they may be? No, I wasn't. I wasn't an action movie heroine; I wasn't jacked up enough on adrenaline to murder, even in self-defense; I wasn't the survivor: I was a little girl. Even for all my trumpeting earlier that I was a fighter, I was a little girl.

 

His laser focus was contagious. I stared straight ahead at the road, seeing but not seeing. I knew I should be memorizing our route so I could get back home when I – IF I ever – escaped, but I was running on autopilot. I had forfeited control of myself. And, if I was honest, I just didn't have the energy to wrestle it back. After my revelation, control had been sapped away from me. It was like my resolution was this big dam that kept it all in and I'd demolished it with one sure swing.

I slept on and off. Don't judge me. How can you say you would have acted any differently? We all like to think in some life-or-death situation we'd be the noble main character, but maybe we're all just the extras that are picked off one by one. Maybe we're all just cowards.

 

“Up. We're here.” It was a gruff voice, but familiar; I couldn't place it with the unfamiliar tone the person was using. Here? Where's “here?” Everything was murky from sleep, but I could feel the truck stop. Doors creaked open and slammed, rocking me. Eyes still refused to open. And then the world snapped abruptly into focus. There was suddenly gossip and laughing and footsteps. My eyes flew open.

School. Huh. I read the name in bold letters on the side of the building about a million times but it still didn't make sense. Frank...actually took me here? But there were my classmates running past and leaning on the side of the building, cliques gossiping between themselves, jocks pushing around a group of goth kids who pushed back just as hard. What even...?

My car door opened and a backpack was held out to me. I hesitated. He couldn't have possibly just taken me to school like he was supposed to. What was with all that kidnapping business then? “You have ta go ta school, Toni.” My name grabbed my attention, but more so the gentle way he said it. Almost quiet-like. Like muttering. It didn't fit with the demanding words. I mentally shook myself. Since when had I thought of Frank as anything but dark and harsh?

Before I could elaborate on my thoughts, I found myself snatching the backpack from his hand and swinging it violently onto my shoulder, making sure to at least whack his truck in the process. This earned me a glare, which I shot right back. Southern boys and their trucks, man... I started to walk with purpose toward the school building when I could feel him keeping pace beside me. Puzzled, I quirked my eyebrow at him, which he answered with a scoff. “Obviously, I have school, too, Toni.” This only left me more confused as he veered ahead of me and turned to face me, walking backwards and studying my perturbed expression. It's then I noticed a backpack on his shoulder. My brain took a while to process all this information. Frank actually took me to school. Frank had been going to  my school. How...? Apparently, my gaze hardened because I was met with another scoff. “I, um, I try not ta be that noticeable. It's act’ly surprisingly easy.”

And that was that. He was off through the school doors, blending with the sea of faces like he was obviously so good at.

 

I tried to munch on my saltine crackers with interest, but everything that touched my tongue soured on contact. Even the too-much-sugar-too-much-fizz soda seemed bitter. He just had to worm his way into everything. I couldn't even enjoy food anymore because of the likes of Francis Gauthier. I'd searched the cafeteria about a hundred times, but he sure hadn't been kidding about not being noticeable. You'd think by now I'd be attuned to his presence. It made me feel like I needed a shower, knowing his eyes were on me but I couldn’t find him. I had spent the first half of the day super-aware of everyone around me, and knowing that none of them was the creep I wanted to keep an eye on. With the way lunch was going, the second half of the day wasn't shaping up to be much different. Aside from this, it had been the usual: idiots trying to rope me into talking like people trying to goad Buckingham Palace guards (and getting the same amount of success); suffering croaking out an answer or two during class; and, in a show of our most foundational instinct, just trying to survive high school.

 

By the end of the day, I was ready to make a quick escape before Stranger Danger could even think of trying to bring me home. Or wherever he wanted to bring me. Here's hoping he would give up looking for me and drive back home while I walked the scenic route. Of course, my bladder had other ideas.

And that's how I found myself hiding in a bathroom stall after school, hoping Stranger Danger wasn't waiting outside the thin bathroom door. Maybe if I waited here a while he'd give up looking. It was worth a try. I was just about to flush the toilet when the door creaked open and a pair of scuffed and worn-out sneakers entered.  _ Crapcrapcrap…  _ I was  not going to come out of this stall now. She'd expect me to engage in gossip like most girls did in the bathroom. There was no way in heck I was going out there. But then she stopped. And there she stayed, near the sinks, stomping the toe of one of her sneakers to a rhythm only known to her. I stayed as far back in the stall as possible, trying not to draw attention. Why was she waiting? There were  at least four other  open stalls! Why did I have to give up mine? If she would just pick another then I could wait for her to get done and leave and make my escape. But no... Five freakin' minutes passed with that same pair of sneakers in that same freakin' place, tapping that same freakin' faulty rhythm. I was almost to hysterics by this point. It was a stalemate. Fine. I was going to have to give this stall up to her so I could get out of here and to home as quickly as possible. You win, mystery picky female. Thanks for pushing my buttons. Before unlocking the stall door, I took a deep breath and mentally repeated a mantra.  _ No eye contact. No eye contact. No eye contact and you'll be fine _ . Eyes to the ground, I slid the lock open and burst through the door, practically skittering to the sink. Now that I got a better look at those sneakers, they looked eerily familiar. Eh, it was probably a girl that walked by me in class all the time and I just hadn't remembered until I saw them again. Eyes still downcast, I approached the sink.

Feeling her presence still behind me, I turned the knobs on the faucet. Seriously? She wasn't even going to take the stall now?! I didn't have much time to get angry, though, because a low drawl boomed out, “Didn't know if ya were ever gonna come out.”

My hand had just happened to be under the soap bottle and I already had a small puddle in my palm. Both went arcing above my head as I jumped in absolute terror. Of course, one drop altered its flight to land smack-dab in my wide-with-fright eye. Trying to block out the stinging pain of soap in my eye, I whirled around with a one-eyed glare and practically squeaked, “What are you doing here?”

Standing in front of me, a bored expression on his face, was the devil himself: Frank freakin' Gauthier.

“Huh. So it does speak.” Without another word, he lifted himself from the wall, ran a hand through his hair, checking himself in the mirror, and clomped out the door. What  _ the heck _ had just happened?

 

And so began the now-unavoidable ride home. I don't know why I followed him to the truck. I could have made my escape then. Maybe I was so much in shock I couldn't think of an escape plan. Whatever it was, it landed me right back into that truck. And let me guess, he was going to take me home like he could never ever be the serial killer I believed he was. Typical. He was just building up my trust so he could turn on me. But I wasn't being fooled.


	7. The One with THAT DINNER (and Lots of Dialect)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos erupted around the table. Jordan’s head shot up so quickly his spoon shot into the air and narrowly avoided Stranger Danger. Mom shrieked out “J’mai!” (A Cajun phrase meaning “Well, I never—!” for shock) the loudest I’d ever heard her. Dad started choking, a horrible cut-off gurgling sound. And I just sat there, caught between shock Stranger Danger would even say that, concern for my dad’s psyche after this, and amusement that someone had finally combatted both my parents in one fell swoop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS of Cajun dialect in this one. Brace yourselves.

     The ride home was quiet, despite Frank occasionally nagging me now that he knew I was capable of talking. He just didn't understand the disgusting use of irony he was asking for. Obviously, I would have to talk to tell him why I didn't talk, therefore ruining the entire explanation I was giving. I would literally be talking in circles. And that was an ungrateful waste of oxygen I wasn't even gonna try to justify.

     The trip seemed shorter this time. I wasn't sure if that was just because I wasn't in absolute terror this time (I knew he was actually going to bring me home because trust was his endgame; not that he was going to get it, of course.) or because we took a different route. Maybe a mix of both. Either way, it was over before I knew it and we were walking into our respective houses, Frank obnoxiously yelling goodbyes and me blowing him off -- and internally wanting to flip him off -- something I feared would become routine.

     I was suddenly mowed down by my dad slamming through the screen door. "Catch'imCatch'imCatch'im!" he yelled, shoving past me. Then, when he noticed whatever he was looking for wasn't there, he angrily swiped off his oven mitt (wait, oven mitt?) and grumbled.

     I just stood there, blank-faced, hoping he'd answer my unspoken questioning. After a few seconds, he noticed my face and scratched the back of his neck, patting the oven mitt against his leg. "Ma wanted Frank ovuh fuh dinnuh ta thank 'im."

     Dad had grown up in the southern part of Louisiana. Think "Swamp People." Dunno where. Dad didn't talk much about his past. The only way I could tell was the thick accent he still carried. You only heard that kind of rich, deep accent in the swamps. And since he only talked every now and then, he'd kept it just as deep and rich all these years.

     Ah, so that explained the oven mitt if Dad was cooking dinner. Dad didn't usually cook; not because of all that gender role crap, just because he wasn't very good at it. Mom had probably left him a detailed set of instructions. She was the only good cook in our family, much like she was the only real talker. I think Jordan could stand a chance at being just as good if he came out of his room for more than just soda and bathroom breaks. In fact, he could--

     Wait... Frank...? Oh yeah! Stranger Danger. Ha! His use of that creeper's real name had taken me a second to register when I'd been mentally-- ...calling him the same exact thing all day. Damn. He'd already seeped in there subconsciously, changing my thoughts. From now on, he was Stranger Danger. Period. Nothing else. Especially not--

     HOLY--! Inviting him to DINNER?! I practically spat this aloud in shock, but there was no way I was going to use any oxygen sputtering redundant nonsense, especially about Stranger Danger. So, what? It had become social etiquette to invite your friendly neighbourhood would-be serial killers to dinner? Isn’t that just wonderful! Let’s have him come eat some red beans and rice and some steak and potatoes so he’s all healthy and strong enough to kidnap and/or murder our daughter! Yeah, thanks Mom and Dad. Oh, and wait! Since Dad was cooking I’d have to be the one to invite him! Without speaking! Oh yes, I could just say that he was sick and couldn’t come, but my mother would check for herself and probably bring him soup or something and wouldn’t take no for an answer when she did find out the truth. Betty Devereaux was a strong-willed woman capable of anything. No, etiquette had won this battle and I was going to have to actually tromp on over to his house and somehow invite him. Faaaaaaaaantastic.

    Before my dad could say a word, I was waving my hand in dismissal (trying to disguise how much it was shaking) and gesturing in a way I hoped got through that I was going over there. My dad gave a shrug and loped inside to check on dinner. As soon as he was gone, I took a deep breath, shifted my not-taken-off-yet backpack on my shoulder and started the daunting trek next door.

 

    It seemed even more abandoned-looking up close. Squeaky torn screen door, rotting porch, and a certain pungent odour to it all confirmed its abandonment. But I knew that lurking somewhere within was the nightmare I had been battling for years. And he was going to be sitting at my kitchen table tonight.

    How was I going to go about doing this? Charades, and just hope he understood my gestures? Good plan, actually. Then I could abruptly leave and if he didn’t understand then it would just be that I _did_ ask and he just didn’t come. There we go. Let’s go with that.

    With a deep breath, I slowly made my way up the stairs, making sure they didn’t squeak too loudly, and came to stand in front of the screen door. Like a lot of people in Moss Bluff, he only had the screen door closed and locked, giving me a good, even if murky, look inside the house. It was dark and there was no movement on the inside, making me feel like any second the door would open and I would be snatched inside before I would even know what was happening. Okay, I could do this. Just ring the doorbell. The ding-dong was like a funeral bell. It echoed throughout the house, leaving me no room to assume he didn’t hear it. However, there was no movement inside the house. At all. All was still and quiet.

    Okaaaaaaaaaay… So what did I do now? I shifted from foot to foot on the creaky porch hoping beyond hope that the worn out wood wouldn’t snap on me. As quietly as I could, I tapped on the metal frame of the screen door. He already hadn’t heard the doorbell, so now I could at least say that I tried both and he didn’t want to answer the door. Of course he didn’t hear my purposely near-silent tapping, so there was still no sound or movement inside the house. Relieved, I turned to slip away down the steps, the scenario of being snatched inside still vivid within my mind.

    Keeping one eye on the door the whole time, I scurried across the porch and practically jumped down the steps. I was almost _almost_ home-free when one of the stairs let out a dying screech and snapped with a loud crash. Oh no. Oh nonono! There was definitely sound from inside the house now. I just about froze, screaming internally at my body’s inability to move. Just as I was finally able to wrench my foot up to run, and before I could even hear the screen door, there was a hand roughly grasping my arm. I yanked it away, practically hollering in protest as I whipped around to punch the owner of said hand in the jaw. Weakly. I was a goner if I was ever in a fight.

    “Toni!” Even through all my protesting, Stranger Danger latched on once again and kept yanking me backward ‘til we were back on the porch and _thought_ he had me calm. How _dare_ he touch me?! The last time he had, he’d practically kidnapped me! What made this freak think he had the right to even try to touch me?! Now furious, I kept trying to pull away, grunting and squeaking in protest.

    With a smug grin on his face, Stranger Danger locked eyes with me and spoke in an almost-childish sing-song “Sorreh. I dun speak cavewoman.”

    I snarled at him ferociously and he let me pull away this time, a shit-eating grin splitting his already-creepy face. Angrily, I rushed through the series of gestures I had mentally planned, my hands practically a blur, only for him to cross his arms. “Dun speak Charades, either.” Stranger Danger leaned against his house, eyeing me with humour, before finally after a few minutes he mock-sighed. “ ‘ow bout you jus’ speak like ya did earl’er. Know ya can!” And that sickening grin made its way across his lips again.

    No. No! Nuh-uh! There was no way I was wasting any more oxygen on him. He’d already made me once today. It was never going to happen again. I made my stand right then and there, hands on my hips and my still-there bookbag hanging loosely from my shoulders, huffing hair out of my face with a furious exhale. The popping-out of my hip I guess jostled my bookbag enough for a misplaced pen to tumble out of a side mesh pocket and stick between two gapping boards of the porch. In the midst of the stand-off, with a wall of solid silence between us, the clattering of the pen was painfully loud. We both kind of slowly hung our heads to stare at it like it held some secret solution. It wasn’t until like a minute later that I realized it actually did. Quickly, almost slamming into Stranger Danger, I crouched down and unwedged it from its prison.

    Okay, so yeah, I was selfish. And yeah, I was lazy. I could have easily just grabbed a random piece of paper or a notebook out of my bookbag, but damnit, he was gonna work for me to tell him. I didn’t want to stand there in front of him, with that blasted grin still devouring his face, scrounging around in my bookbag while he chuckled at my stupidity. Naw, if he wanted to know, he was gonna work for it. I uncapped the pen with my teeth – and spit the cap at his feet – and made scribbles in the air that I hoped translated to “Get me paper. Now.”

    He did eventually catch on, but definitely not in the way I wanted him to. At first, since the grin disappeared, I thought he was actually gonna go get some paper; but then, with barely a glance inside the house, he turned back to me and shrugged. “Dun seem to ‘ave any papuh.” His face was completely serious and so was his tone, but I could feel the goading within all of it: the ploy to get me to speak out of anger.

    And angry I was. The anger, however, was pushing me to do the exact opposite of what he wanted, just to spite him. So, angrily, practically scratching into my hand, I scrawled,

DINNER

TONIGHT

COME

on my palm in barely readable writing and shoved it in his face. Before he could question me, I was bounding down the stairs and along the gravel path.

    He did call after me, though. “Toni!” he yelled, all seriousness now. “Toni, wait! Are ya askin’ me out?” Oh boy… Oh HECK naw! Right before I could follow through on my plan to give him the one-finger salute so he would get the picture, his tone turned mocking and whiny. “But how’ll I know what time? An’ where?” And then I did follow through with that plan.

 

    Apparently he did eventually figure it out, because a few hours later he was sitting at our small kitchen table, across and one seat to the left of me, tearing ravenously at our chicken fried steak and green beans and baked potatoes. Dad sat at the head of the table, right around the corner from Frank, and Jordan sat to my left, giving me free reign to smack him on the back of the head when he tried to copy Stranger Danger’s caveman style of eating. My dad, Arnold Devereaux, as I’ve said before, found talking beyond small talk extremely painful; so it wasn’t surprising that he was keeping his mouth full at all times, albeit politely, unlike others at the table. When he wasn’t trying to act like Stranger Danger, Jordan was shoveling food into his mouth as fast as possible anyway in an effort to leave the table as soon as possible. Dad always took that as a sign he was hungry and begged him to take seconds, though. He should have learned by now that no one leaves the table until we all do.

    Speaking of seconds, Stranger Danger was now on his third plate and, after being unsuccessful trying to cut this piece of chicken fried steak, stabbed the whole thing with his fork and brought it to his teeth. Now, Cajuns weren’t known for being the neatest eaters either. In fact, I’d been known to do the same thing with meat. But I would say we kinda all sat there horrified as we watched Stranger Danger tear into the steak like a predator. When he did finally catch on that we were watching, he dropped the steak like he’d been burned and began to scoop up pieces of baked potato and pop them in his mouth.

    I was the only one barely touching their food. Sitting at the table with one’s future killer took away a lot of one’s appetite, not to mention the way this particular future killer was eating in and of itself. I stabbed into my steak only to rip up tiny shreds, only ate maybe one green bean at a time, and just kept mixing the now-mushy cheese and sour cream and butter into my baked potato. In fact, I could probably be Jordan today: just abruptly leave the table and lock myself away in my room. But then Mom would be supremely furious, even if she made it home after the dinner she’d planned. Nah, I had to sit here and slowly eat and hope that it would be over soon.

 

    All that could be heard was the clinking of utensils on plates and the smacking of eating. No one at this table was going to talk. I was surprised Creeptacular hadn’t tried. Maybe he was as socially…inadequate as the rest of us. Jordan sat slumped, bored as usual now that he couldn’t copy Frank for entertainment without me giving him a glare or smack. He was having to suffer just as much as me through this. Dad was a bit more relaxed now that he knew there wasn’t going to be much talking. He was eating more casually now and not worrying about keeping his mouth full. I was kind of glad he wasn’t one of those dads that would interrogate the guest at a family dinner. I would just about die if that happened. Stranger Danger, now slowing down on his fourth plate (My word! He was a black hole!), was still eating like a barbarian but was actually tolerable now. And every now and then, when he caught me looking at him or I caught him looking at me and both Dad and Jordan were preoccupied, he’d send me a wink or some other mocking gesture. Mom’s entrance was a lifesaver.

    Betty Devereaux practically slammed through the screen door, already talking as if she’d started her ramble on the way here. “—‘appened to be a rel’tive o’ Vincent’s and she demanded I take a rest, too. She’ll be ‘andlin’ ta bar fuh a while ‘ere now. So I’m ‘ome early! Whatcha make o’ dat? ‘Prises ‘round e’ery cornuh!”

    All of us kind of mumbled or hummed in response, our mouths full and still not used to the firework that was Mom in the almost dead silence. I was still so glad she was home early, though. Well, that was until I realized exactly what seat was open and exactly why it was open. Across from me and right next to Stranger Danger? Oh no… This was a strategic move. Darnit, Mom, NO! She ripped off her thin coat (everything Mom did was over exuberant) and threw it over the back of said seat before plopping down and loading up her plate. I looked over just in time to see Jordan gulp the rest of his baked potato and his Sprite, shoving out his chair with an overly loud honk and basically jogging to his room.

    “Jordan Elijah…” He stopped in his tracks at Mom’s bellow. The green beans she’d been about to shovel onto her plate started to plop back into the porcelain dish as she froze to dole out judgement. “Plant cho butt back in dat chair ‘fore I do it for ya.” The low rumble turned into a polite voice as she acknowledged the animal next to her. “We have a guest.” I had already started following Jordan’s lead and risen from my chair to clean my dishes. Before I could backtrack, Mom’s eyes targeted me. “And you—“ she didn’t need to say any more. I was already slumping back down into my seat and resigning myself to a second plate of food. I may as well eat more since I was going to be here a while. Jordan moped back over and did the same. At least I wasn’t alone, right?

 

    Jordan and I had already finished our plates and sat there, waiting to be excused, Jordan almost nodding off between exchanging bored looks and eye rolls with me every time Creeptastic spoke. At least Jordan agreed with me about this guy. I knew someone else had to feel the creepy! Stranger Danger was just about to finish his plate, too. As he took his last bite of his – fourth? fifth? – latest serving of steak, Mom urged him to get seconds and kept rambling on about how he needed to eat more or he’d wither away. Dad, Jordan, and I shared an amused glance between us, trying to hide snickers, before Dad softly assured Mom, “I t’ink he’s eaten ‘nuff, hun.”

    Stranger Danger went practically white with embarrassment, slowly gulping down that last bite. “I’m good, Mrs. Devereaux,” he stated in the most polite voice I had heard from him. That. Little. _Suck up!_

    “Oh, chile. Call me Betty!” No, please don’t. EW. Please, please don’t. Really.

    Stranger Danger silently agreed to this. Mom was impossible to say no to.

    No. This wasn’t happening. Mom was _not_ getting buddy-buddy with a serial killer. She was _not_ establishing trust with him. She was _not_ plotting to get us together. But then they both giggled like schoolgirls about something, Dad and Jordan shaking their heads, and that second plate raced up my throat. My chair squealed and the table jolted, making all the plates and glasses clatter, as I shot up from my seat. Mom fixed me with an intensifying stare, so I jabbed my thumb toward the bathroom, grinning sheepishly. She only stared me down, I guess trying to assess whether I was just making excuses to lock myself in my room (which, in all honesty, I probably would have if I didn’t have the kind of mother that would break down the door and lecture me about social etiquette). Eventually, I guess she decided that I was telling the truth because she nodded, albeit unhappily. All the while, I was holding back vomit behind clenched teeth, Stranger Danger’s ever-present smug grin only making it worse.

    The moment I saw her head start to nod, I took off for the bathroom, almost flipping over my chair. I hardly had the bathroom door closed before I was worshipping the porcelain throne, chunks of steak and butter and I think what used to be green beans spewing over my lips. Oh, God… It was all coming up. But while my body was focused on completely emptying my stomach, my brain had other ideas. It ran through everything I had learned and experienced throughout the day and just now:

    Stranger Danger was now taking me to school every day. Mr. Dupart almost died. Mom was working more. Stranger Danger kidnapped me. Except he took me to my school instead. Correction, **our** school because **apparently** he goes there. He followed me into the girls’ bathroom, waited for me, and saw nothing wrong with it. He was trying to earn my trust. He was invited to dinner. He thought I was asking him out. He ate like a barbarian. Jordan was with me on how dangerous and…strange Stranger Danger is. Mom said we used to know each other. I don’t remember him. I doubt he remembers me. Now she’s trying to set us up.

    Once I thought maybe the vomit comet had finally ended, I dragged myself to the sink, splashing cold water to cool my face and rinse off my lips, chin, and neck. I finally just ended up dunking my face into the water that had built up (we had unreliable drains). That was a lot to learn and experience in one day. No wonder I had thrown up! It was just the body’s natural reaction when overwhelmed, right?

     Needing air desperately, both literally and metaphorically, I pulled my head out of the sink and blindly fiddled around for a hand towel to dry my face. I finally found one inside the cabinet under the sink and practically smothered myself in it. This towel was nice and soft and cozy. This towel was safe. This towel wasn’t going to throw me snide looks across the table while it schmoozed my parents to the point of no return. And then I remembered the main reason I threw up.

     The poor cozy, innocent, comforting towel was flung into the air haphazardly as I made another mad dash for the toilet. I’d pretty much already emptied my stomach, though, so I just had to persevere through five minutes of dry heaves. They trusted him… Oh, GOD! Now they trusted him! They’d never believe me about him now. He’d wormed his way into their approval so they’d never suspect him when I went missing. They’d believe in his innocence, maybe even fight for it, when my body was found. And poor Jordan would be the only one besides Stranger Danger and my ghost to know the truth. They’d never believe Jordan over that disgusting suck-up sitting next to my mom and slowly seeping into their good graces. I was on my own now.

     Somehow the thought, although terrifying, was soothing. I didn’t have to rely on anyone else. I had to actually watch out for myself on this one.

 

     After rinsing out my mouth and scrubbing off what remained of my makeup, I finally stepped out of the bathroom and tried to block out the horror wracking my body. Somehow I was able to walk into the kitchen and sit down, all like a normal human being. Apparently, I’d taken long enough for everyone to move on to dessert. They all had bowls of ice cream in front of them, but they’d probably be soup by the time they actually ate them since Stranger Danger and my parents seemed more interested in talking.

     Once they were all done giggling about whatever they had been talking about, Mom finally turned to me, and Dad and Stranger Danger started trying to scoop their quickly-melting icecream. “Oh, Toni! Ya back. Didn’t know if we’d hafta break down the bat’room door er not!” She kind of glanced around furtively and lowered her voice to ask, “Did dinnah not ‘gree wit’ ya or suntin’? We got Pepto.” I was tempted to yell “Ma!” in embarrassment, but then she’d win. She was _wanting_ me to talk. She was _wanting_ me and her precious “Francis” to bond. Not gonna happen, Mom.

     Instead, I thought _You could say that,_ and tried my best to say it on my face. _It wasn’t dinner that made me throw up._ My mom could read my expression like a book. That came from years of her having to interpret my silence and why I was silent. Apparently, Mom didn’t catch that second part, though. Not that I thought she would. She and Dad were already too far gone.

     “Le’s get some icecream down dat t’roat. We got sho fav’rite, butter pecan, an’ ev’r’t’ing. Jordan! Get cho sistah some icecream.”

     With a huff, (Everything Jordan was “forced” to do was with a huff. It was like his thing.) Jordan stood up and, like it took all the energy he had, swung his head over to me. “Ya wan’ icecream?” he asked flatly, already bored.

     I didn’t relish the thought of being a pecan-and-dairy-loaded machine gun so I slowly shook my head and then busied myself with my placemat. Before I had even finished “answering,” Jordan had flopped back down in his chair and started chopping his icecream down to a milkshake. Mom fixed us both with a disappointed look but didn’t say anything. Until she noticed my hand. “Wha’s dat?” Her question startled me. I was about ready to look at her in confusion before I noticed the hand I’d written my “invitation” on was the one I was using to pull at my earlobe (something I did when I was irritated) and the palm was facing her. It hadn’t even smudged. CRAP.

     When I unknowingly avoided meeting her eyes, she held out her hand. I was expected to put mine in it. CRAAAAP. Slowly, I stretched my slender hand forward and laid it in her huge one. She practically yanked me across the table! Her face seemed to get madder and madder the longer she studied my hand; I’m sure I was a puddle of goop by the time she finally tore her eyes away from my hand and locked them on me. Have I mentioned CRAP?!

     With an annoyed tut, she wrenched my hand toward Stranger Danger. “Is this how she invited you?” And you know what that intolerable little suck-up did? He nodded his head with the most solemn pathetic look on his face I’d ever seen! And of course Mom fell for it. She shook her head with a chuckle, still gripping my poor hand to death and dipping my elbow in the green beans. “Shill open up to ya sometahme. Toni here refusin’ ta talk. Mmm… Shill talk sometahme. Jus’ gotta keep tryin’.” No, Mom! You were supposed to be on my side! I simmered in my seat as she released my hand and I cleaned off the green beans.

     Stranger Danger looked me over, not ominously or mockingly. In fact, I couldn’t really get a bead on him. He just looked me over and simply stated, “I plan ta.”

     Mom had no idea what she had done.

     I didn’t even have a plate of food to distract me now. And keeping my eyes down wouldn’t help any, not when I could feel his eyes on me and hear his words in my head. _”I plan ta.”_ They danced around in my brain, taunting me. Nothing good could come of those words. So I made a decision right then and there. I was going to stop being afraid: I was going to get angry. Anger could carry me through this like nothing else. So, with this new resolve controlling me, I slumped down in my chair, crossed my arms, and fixed the object of my fury with a steely glare. Too bad he wasn’t looking anymore.

 

_Okay, a bit more immaturity here. But I promise you this part is important._

 

     Now satisfied with the wreck she had made of my life (She didn’t know this. Of course.) Mom turned back to Stranger Danger and Dad and continued where they had left off. Except this time she decided to include Jordan and me. “So we were jus’ talkin’ ‘bout Frank’s livin’ condishuns an’ such,” she summed up quickly to no one in particular. But before Mom could say any more, Jordan did something I didn’t think anyone was capable of: he cut off Mom.

     “Yeh…” Jordan’s voice rang out clear in the small kitchen as Betty Devereaux’s head whipped to find the source of this interruption. “I wuz wond’rin’ ‘bout dat.” He softly laid his spoon on the side of his bowl and folded his hands like he was deep in thought. “How does sumwhun his age end up livin’ by ‘imself?” he said to thin air, but we all knew who it was directed at.

     Mom quickly started to answer, but the ‘‘imself’ in question slowly did the same as Jordan, pausing to clear his throat and run a hand through his hair before he answered. “Tha’s a perfectly valid questshun, Jord’n.” Stranger Danger took a deep breath and continued, ignoring the fact that Mom was glaring at Jordan.

 

     What began next was a long rambling monologue from the age of eight. I knew he was lying the whole time. I just knew. The fact that he kept glancing at me the entire time, gauging my reaction, was a dead giveaway. Of course, everyone else took it as that he was testing the waters to see if I remembered anything about our past. Which I didn’t. I mean, yes, I did remember that the abandoned house not always being so abandoned and I was vaguely sure there’d been a family with one little boy living there, but that was it. No nostalgia about carefree days playing tag or making mudpies, and definitely not with the monster swearing to me that they did happen. Lies. All lies. Heaven help whoever believed them.

     “…ya ‘member, right, Toni?” he asked for the I’d-lost-count time. No. I didn’t. I wouldn’t. And I never wanted to. But I half-heartedly nodded and he continued even though he believed me about as much as I believed him. “An’way, at ‘bout ten, mah parents started talkin’ ‘bout movin’. Was kina heartbroken, but ‘cited still somehow. Sumwhere remote. Sumwhere we cud go ‘off-grid’ as they called it. We ‘scussed diff’rent places, but I think they liked mah suggeshstun of H’whyie da most. By ‘leven, we were all livin’ there. H’whyie’s nice ‘n’ all. All tropical ‘n’ beachy ‘n’ really, really peaceful. But I was gettin’ homesick. I spent 8 years growin’ up in Lou’siana, ya know. Hard to ‘just from that to a peaceful island. Somethin’ brought me back. We still owned dis house so I jus’ made myself at home. This was ‘round 14…15, I b’lieve? So maybe rebelyon had a bit ta do wit’ it. Wanted to be a kinna lone wolf figure, I guess.” He grinned a toothy grin. “Yeah, that’s prolly it.”

     Before he could continue, Jordan cut in once again. He was on a roll! “So you’ve been squattin’ – ahem, ‘scuse me, livin’ – in an ‘bandoned hus since…le’s see…fo’teen? Ain’t that illegal?” The little smart-ass! Who ever knew Jordan would be this sassy once he actually interacted with others? He blinked innocently, resting his head on his palms in fake avid interest.

     Stranger Danger adjusted in his seat and hardened his gaze. “Yes,” he answered slowly, deliberately, “since tha’ young.” His tightened jaw dared Jordan to challenge him again. It was now I noticed just how strong his jawline was even without being clenched. But that wasn’t what held my attention. There was a gleam in his eye I didn’t like at all.

     I think Mom could sense the tension and was still angry at Jordan, so she cut in happily with, “Well, squatter ‘r not, it’s legal now an’ he’s our neighba so we oughta be _nice_.” ‘Nice’ was emphasized by her slow pronunciation and a pointed glare at Jordan, who only shrugged and went back to his icecream, nudging my foot under the table.

     I wasn’t paying attention to that, though. Stranger Danger’s eyes had now returned to “normal,” but I still felt uneasy. Well, more than usual. His eyes were still that awful prying green that made my blood boil and my stomach clench. The inherent threat apparently hadn’t fazed Jordan in the least (although occupied now, he wore the ghost of a smirk) but I was honestly concerned for his safety. No one else had noticed what Stranger Danger was really trying to say, it seemed. Not even Jordan. So much for not being alone in this.

     Mom purposely let her spoon clang as she dropped it in the bowl. “So, Frank, how _is_ da hawse? How are ya getting’ by?” She assumed Jordan’s pose, but hers wasn’t so sarcastic.

     Stranger Danger looked taken aback for a second. “Um, sure, yuh. Is fine. I mean, the huss is kinna fallin’ ‘part ‘n’ all, but I’m thinkin’ ‘bout doin’ a bit o’ ren’vation. Spruce it up a bit. But I dun know an’thing rally ‘bout huss stuff. Kinna ‘ludes me, even at my best ‘tempts.”

     I should have seen where this was gonna go. It shouldn’t have surprised me so much. But honestly, I was paying far more attention to my placemat than Stranger Danger’s lies. Which, unsurprisingly, turned out to be really bad.

     “O’ course Toni’ll help!” Mom half-yelled way too cheerfully, with a fake grin spread wide, cutting her eyes at me. Mom wasn’t subtle in any sense of the word.

     Oh hell no. I was not being stuck in a house with Stranger Danger for hours on end in the only free time I got. No. No no no. Not even if he was telling the truth about renovating, which he probably wasn’t.

     I guess the disbelief of it showed on my face and I rolled my eyes or something because Mom went nuclear. “ANTONIA JULIET DEVEREAUX!” The rest was chopped, quickly whispered angrily in a voice just begging me to defy her. “Ya will NAH roll yer eyes a’ me. Ya will NAH be rude ta our guest. ‘N’ ya WILL be ‘elpin’ ‘im ren’vate. Are we unnastood?”

     I gulped and slowly nodded, all defiance draining from me in a flash. Well, now I was stuck. As I said, Betty Devereaux was impossible to say no to. Jordan gave my foot a reassuring nudge under the table, but kept his eyes glued to his butter pecan sludge.

     The tension around the table quickly turned to excitement or groans when Stranger Danger whistled slightly and muttered, “Antonia Juliet. Tha’s quite a mouthful.”

     “Oh, yus,” Mom started, cutting off Jordan’s and my groans and head bangs and Dad’s excited gibberish. “Arnold’s quite the Shikspur buff. Wanted our child ta be a boy so as he cud name ‘em Marcus Antonius. Then out popped this’um an’ we had to compromise. Can’t zactly name ‘er Marcus Antonius or even Marc Antony. So Antonia Juliet it was.” At the mention of my parents being disappointed I was a girl, Stranger Danger sent a grin and a wink my way; but other than that he listened intently, his eyebrows furrowed at the mention of Shakespeare. “Is beautiful nuff, though.” Jordan voiced my concern with a strangled whine from between his smushed mouth and his placemat. Dad still sputtered incoherently. Mom soldiered on through the criticism. “When we fin’ly did get a boy, Arnold had kinna moved on from lit’trur a bit. He went through a weird ‘90s basketball phase when Jordan – get it? – was born. No idea where the ‘lijah came in.” Jordan adjusted his head on the placemat with a squeak but otherwise kept it on the table along with me.

     Stranger Danger cut in almost effortlessly. Dipping his spoon in his butter pecan soup, he casually commented, “I’ve ‘eard Shikspur’s all bad puns ‘n’ dick jokes.”

     Chaos erupted around the table. Jordan’s head shot up so quickly his spoon shot into the air and narrowly avoided Stranger Danger. Mom shrieked out “J’mai!” (A Cajun phrase meaning “Well, I never—!” for shock) the loudest I’d ever heard her. Dad started choking, a horrible cut-off gurgling sound. And I just sat there, caught between shock Stranger Danger would even say that, concern for my dad’s psyche after this, and amusement that someone had finally combatted both my parents in one fell swoop. Jordan and Stranger Danger glanced at each other, wondering which should help Dad out. I guess they finally figured it would be better if Jordan did ‘cause he started patting Dad’s back hard. Mom was still in shock, speechless in a moment when she would usually be blowing up, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Stranger Danger’s eyes whipped to me for help, but I was too busy watching Dad. After a few more hard smacks, he finally horked out the culprit. A lone pecan spiralled across the table and bounced out of sight. It wouldn’t be until a few days later that I found where it was: sitting at the foot of the table like another dinner guest.

     Silence took over for chaos after we were done being fixed on the pecan. We all just stared at each other awkwardly. Of course, that was until Mom gained back her usual composure. She cleared her throat way too loudly and started, “Wull, Francis, Ah thi—“

     Dad cut in. “Oh, nuh, nuh, hun. Frank’s comp’tly ‘ti’led ta ‘ave ‘is own ‘pinion on ole Shikspur.” He gave Stranger Danger’s shoulder a rough but friendly pat and shake. “Nuh ‘pology nec’sary.”

     Stranger Danger still went a vivid tomato red and shrunk down in his seat a little.

 

     Things calmed down quite a bit after that. It was barely 8:00, and even though Stranger Danger and I still had homework, we (read Mom and Dad) invited him to watch some TV with us. Well, scan through channels and try to find something good. Thankfully, he didn’t make anymore…well, rude comments about it. Eventually, we settled on a B-rated Syfy original movie that we could _really_ laugh at because it supposedly took place in Louisiana. Turned out he liked Syfy originals, too. I tried not to be too excited we had something in common. This was the enemy. So we caught the last 45 minutes, Mom and Dad in their claimed big chairs and Stranger Danger sandwiched between Jordan and me on the couch. I could tell he was kinda uncomfortable there in the middle while Jordan and I were lounging on the arms of the couch, our legs curled up under us. Would it be mean of me to say I was happy he was uncomfortable? Probably.

 

     We stayed this way until the end of the movie, laughing at the stupidity and overdramatics. However, when the next one started up, a cheesy werewolf movie also set in Louisiana (all werewolf movies seem to take place there) Stranger Danger seemed to break out of whatever spell we were all under. He jumped up, noticing the time and thanking us for a “supah-delicious mell” and letting him watch some TV with us. Mom demanded a hug, telling him we needed to spend more time together “like buhfoe.” I cringed at the phrase and tried to fade into the background during the goodbyes. Dad settled for slapping him good-naturedly on the back and flashing him a knowing grin. I figured the “Shikspur” thing would always be an inside joke between them (which it was). Jordan gave him one of those quick chin-jerk things and was slamming through the door of his room before Stranger Danger could return it. That was probably the last he would see of Jordan and he grinned at this.

     And then there was me. Mom and Dad went to put away the leftovers so I was exposed. Stranger Danger’s eyes locked onto mine as I slowly started backing toward my room. “See ya tomorrah, Marc Antony.” A wink and a smirk and he was gone, the screen door slamming behind him.

     It wasn’t until I was safe in my room that I really thought about what he said. _Julius Caesar_ … Awwww, crap. Everyone died in that one, right? I started panicking until I remembered that Marcus lives. That had to be a good sign. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you survive the horde of dialect? Good!  
> Lemme know if y'all ever want a video of what a Cajun accent sounds like or the beautiful creak and hiss of a screen door (one of my favourite sounds ever!)


	8. The One When the Plot Finally Begins to Pick Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tried to answer with gestures every time, but most teachers either got irritated with me or made me answer more questions vocally out of spite. I really couldn’t hold it against them, though. They didn’t understand and I didn’t feel like explaining for anyone to understand. Maybe Stranger Danger felt the same about being not-there. A surge of pity washed over me. But then his eyes shot daggers into mine during our last period and I remembered yesterday.

The next morning Mom made it clear that even though she was off for a few days Frank  would still be taking me to school and I  would be going over to his house after school to do homework, get to know each other again, and bounce renovating ideas off each other. I met this with way more immaturity than I should have for a 17-year-old, quietly protesting by shoving my biscuits and coffee away and crossing my arms. But Mom once again instilled the fear of death in me.

 

_ Now in my twenties, I realize just how much Mom had to do so. I was so immature and snobbish and ungrateful toward all the good Life offered me. I was too blockheaded to see the big picture, so stuck in my ways to see any other. And above all else, this is what I regret. _

 

Just a few minutes later, I was basically shoved out the door and told to go next door. Defeated yet again, I weakly kicked the porch then made my way over there. Yes, I was a child throwing a tantrum, but remember I had decided to be angry rather than scared and I was trying to cover up my raging terror at being in a car alone with him again, not to mention alone in his house with him since we still had ten minutes before we had to leave. Be in fear for your life, forced to be alone with that person, not believed about who they are, and try to react differently than me.  _ Then _ you can judge.

Avoiding the rotten step I'd snapped yesterday, I tiptoed up the steps and then rocked on the balls of my feet, wondering what to do. Once again I couldn't see any movement through the screen door and it was dark, and a bit dusty this time. I stifled a cough with the collar of my shirt just in time. Leaving the collar over my nose and mouth, I leaned back and forth, trying to get a good idea of where Stranger Danger was so he couldn't scare me.

After about a minute of fruitless searching, I finally tapped on the metal of the screen door, hoping not to be heard. But, surprise! (Not really.) I was. "Kem en!" came the muffled response. Cautiously, I pushed the screen door open. It swung and then stopped abruptly with a loud snap a few feet before the wall. I crept in as it slowly hissed closed. The house was just as dark and dusty on the inside, smelling of rot and nicotine. Wow, he wasn't kidding about the renovation.

The living room and kitchen were mostly empty, the stray appliance or piece of furniture here or there. I picked the least nasty-looking surface, which happened to be a barstool at the kitchen island, and plopped on it. I waited there for a few minutes, muffled cursing coming from the hall in the corner, until it suddenly seemed to get closer and I looked up to see a sight so unexpected I froze. There was Stranger Danger, slightly-lit cigarette dangling from his lips, practically shirtless with one arm through a sleeve, ratty jeans unbuttoned and partly unzipped and hanging low on his hips, looking as flustered as ever.

As I sat there in stunned silence while he passed through the room, he abruptly looked up and froze, too. " **Shet** , Toni!" he yelled, turning around, and hastily pulled the shirt on and fumbled with his pants. I finally snapped out of it, and shielded my eyes, mouthing 'Oh my gooooooooood...' in embarrassment. Okay, so I had never had a thing for muscled guys. It just wasn't important to me. But  _ damn _ ... I did not expect Stranger Danger to be so gorge-- no NO! I was not thinking that. I was not letting this affect me like he so obviously wanted it to.

He kept muttering "Shet" as he fumbled with his clothes. I kept hiding behind my shield of a hand, convincing myself that there was no way in hell Stranger Danger was attractive. It was just shock talking. Aside from this, all his fumbling was sending smoke and ash everywhere. No wonder his house smelled so horrible. "Okay. Ya gud. All cleah," came a sheepish voice. I hesitantly lowered my hand and there was Stranger Danger, hands in pockets and cigarette clenched in a sheepish grin. Like he totally didn't mean to do any of that. Pfffft! I knew better. Just another ploy to get a rise out of me.

Stranger Danger subtly fluttered his eyelashes, hanging his head so he could gaze at me through the lashes. I was supposed to melt, lovestruck, like some crappy romantic novel. You know, those ones with the half-naked guys on the front, towering over some swooning silk-dressed idiot. ( _ And I almost did, but adolescent me could neeeeeever come to terms with that _ .) No, Stranger Danger would have to find his Bella elsewhere. This girl was never gonna be her.

After two more puffs, he gave up on both me and the cigarette. Half-smoked and barely alive, it tumbled out of his mouth and to his feet, where he smashed it into the splintery planks beneath us. Seeing this made me realize just how many cigarettes there were in the house. Every surface was littered with crumpled butts, with a half- or barely-smoked one here or there. Most of the floor had a nicotine-themed carpet, too, some even falling into the cracks. I felt like I was gonna hurl. He needed so much help with this house, and I couldn’t even complain because now  _ I _ was tasked with fixing it. Thanks, Mom.

“Wanna cawfee?” He swayed a bit, head still down and hands still in pockets. Let him act sheepish! I saw right through him. When Stranger Danger finally looked up to see my answer, I raised my eyebrow (pretty much my default setting) and flicked my eyes toward the door. He scoffed at this, which I guess meant he understood. “The’s always time fer cawfee.”

Huh. That’s what I always said. Well, to myself. In my head. But still, what were the odds? Wait… There was coffee in this hellhole? I spun on the stool toward the kitchen island, where Frank was already setting up a small coffee maker to make half a pot. It was an awkward few minutes: the only sounds the ambience outside, the drips of the coffee and growling of the machine, and our hushed breathing as we waited for a cup of liquid energy. Awkward enough that Frank had the handle and two mugs before the last drop even hit.

“So, from what I knowwa ya alreadeh, I’m ‘suming ya like yer cawfee black. ‘N ‘m prolly right, eh?” He swung this comment over his shoulder as he poured himself a black coffee. He didn’t see my borderline snarl. “Although, ah like mine black, too, so I guess ‘m jus’ as borin’. Not’in’ but the sweet nectar o’ life. ‘M ah right?” He had to have picked that up from Mom somehow. No one else I knew referred to coffee that way. Either that or he was a mind reader, and as creepy as he already was, I definitely wasn’t ready to delve into that idea.

He fixed black coffee for me, too, and sat down beside me. The next ten minutes were filled with purposely obnoxious slurping on my part and nonstop comments about this or that on his part. I was so glad when we couldn’t stall any longer. And yes, I drank all my coffee. And no, it wasn’t drugged. Or poisoned. Maybe. Okay, I might have checked. And thought about dumping it. But really, who could pass up a decent fresh cup of coffee? Not this girl. And if that’s the way I was gonna go out, I’d die happy.

We climbed into the truck, both silent for once, and took off toward school without a hitch. I have no idea how the ride seemed so much longer yesterday. Today, if I would have even blinked too long we’d have already been at school. Stranger Danger grabbed his bag and zipped off, but I stayed leaning against the truck to think a little.

Wow. Had it only been yesterday that everything so suddenly changed? Twenty-four hours ago, I was just worrying about escaping from Stranger Danger, and now there was so much more to add to that plate it was kind of overwhelming. I took a minute just to breathe deep and push all that to the back of my head. I could at least spend a few hours not stressing over this guy.

 

I was so so wrong. Guess who joined me for lunch? Ding ding ding!

Our table was packed. All my fair-weather friends had decided to join me today. Oh, I never mentioned them? Well, I don’t know if I’d call them friends. They liked to hang around me because they could talk about themselves nonstop. Ya know, because I listen a whole heck of a lot more than speak? In reality, I couldn’t give a hoot what they have to say -- or most people, for that matter -- but they don’t care. All they care about is that I don’t interrupt.

It was during CeCe’s -- the black-haired green-eyed and albeit legitimately popular queen bee of our school -- rant about her 5th ex and 1st ex becoming best friends and sharing horror stories about her that we both noticed he was here. He had plopped down relatively near to me, but so stealthily I had never noticed. Dang… He was really not joking about being good at not being seen.

CeCe elbowed me and obnoxiously whispered, “Is that your boyfriend?” Just as I opened my mouth to answer defiantly, she continued. “If not, you have an admirer.” And just when I thought she couldn’t get any more obnoxious, she giggled. Like flat-out schoolgirl (literally!) giggled. And waved! Stranger Danger’s face went from confused to forced as he waved back sarcastically and managed a forced grin. Then he quickly went back to his meal; not nervously, more like he couldn’t be bothered, which was probably true.

Cece just let out a squeak and elbowed me again. My arm was getting sore. I just smiled and stabbed my pasta, though. Just as I was shoving an overloaded forkful into my mouth, she huffed and stared at me. “Well, you’re not even going to say hi?” She sounded like she was in pain.

Without missing a bite, I lifted my left arm, flicked my hand toward Stranger Danger’s general direction, and then lowered it. “Oh right, the thing…” Angelle (a bottle redhead to rival all others) attempted to whisper. It came out more like someone talking to the audience in a play. She made jerky movements around her mouth like mine couldn’t be opened. Which, I was kinda proving that wrong by stuffing my cheeks like a chipmunk. Still, all the girls around the table that were now a part of my personal life hummed in agreement and fake sympathy.

“Lucky you have us!” chirped CeCe and as if someone had just thrown a slice of bread at a bunch of geese, all females rose from the table (except me) and landed near Stranger Danger.

In order to save my food, I slid it and my chair down to the now-empty end of the table. From here, I could watch the girls fawn over him, someone they wouldn’t have even noticed five minutes ago. It made me think. Why so much attention now? Stranger Danger had skirted by any attention in a small school. That was a skill. That took work. That took wanting to not be noticed and purposely making sure not even teachers knew you didn’t want to be noticed. Why? What was Stranger Danger trying so desperately to hide from?

The bell for class rang a few minutes later, but Stranger Danger had already ditched the girls and headed to class early. I felt kinda bad for bringing all that attention on him. Then I remembered who I was dealing with and everything from yesterday. He wasn’t worth feeling bad for. I hefted my bag onto my shoulder, cleaned up my lunch, and headed off to class, determined to survive the rest of the day.

 

He was easy to find in every class. Stranger Danger’s shroud had withered away and he didn’t look too happy about it. Teachers finally seemed to notice he didn’t want to be noticed and called on him to answer questions. Unfortunately, that meant I was called on, too. I tried to answer with gestures every time, but most teachers either got irritated with me or made me answer more questions vocally out of spite. I really couldn’t hold it against them, though. They didn’t understand and I didn’t feel like explaining for anyone to understand. Maybe Stranger Danger felt the same about being not-there. A surge of pity washed over me. But then his eyes shot daggers into mine during our last period and I remembered yesterday. When so much had happened, how could I ever work together with him on a house or try to renew our childhood or even trust him? Hopelessness and then determination dropped a wall on my pity like a guillotine.

I owed him nothing, no matter what. Yes, I was stuck with him now, but that only meant I had to be civil, not friendly or trusting. I could do this!

The bell felt like someone had literally whacked my chair with a frying pan. I shot out of my seat way too quickly and almost punched my nonexistent attacker. A group of jocks behind me snorted and let out long “wow”s along with piercing screech-laughs from CeCe’s group. Slowly, I breathed my way out of the panic and picked up my chair that I’d sent skittering away. When I went to reach for my messenger bag, someone had already grabbed it and was heaving it up onto their shoulder. My head slowly rose to see Stranger Danger already speeding out of the room, adjusting the strap as he went.

So...great. He was either angry or just being stupid. I didn’t know which was worse.

 

I hesitated at the glass double doors that led to the parking lot. There wasn’t much choice but to go with him since he took my bag. Which he probably did for exactly that reason. But was I ready for today? Was I ready to be back in that nasty house and somehow nonverbally help him fix the rotting thing? Was I ready to be a prisoner of my own free time, stuck with him like Mom wanted me to? Was I ready, period?

My shaking hands and tight throat yelled a forceful “NO” and sent me tumbling into the nearest bathroom. Oh boy, here comes the-- All the pasta, barely even digested charged up my throat and all over the toilet. I hadn’t even had time to close the stall door or kneel down, and the stall that I’d picked was already pretty messy. It had already smelled like ass and urine and some other smells I didn’t want to think about, and I’d just added really foul pasta and acid and spit to that. I felt bad, I really did, but disgust and exhaustion kept me from cleaning up.

Stumbling out of the stall to the sink, I finally realized one reason it smelled so bad. Urinals. There were urinals here. That meant-- A jock came barreling into the bathroom, laughing obnoxiously and already fumbling with his pants. It wasn’t until he got to one of the urinals that he noticed me and almost flew backward in surprise, letting out one specific curse. Thankfully, his pants were still zipped. Wow. Okay. So a girl in the guy's’ bathroom wasn’t  _ that _ scary. I looked into the mirror in front of me and almost jumped back, too. God, I looked like death! My face was white and sweaty, my lips were chapped, and my skin looked like it’d been pulled even tighter over my skull. All I’d need was a black cloak and you could call me the frickin’ Reaper.

Jock was stumbling back toward the stalls. A small part of my mind hoped he wouldn’t go in mine. I turned back to the sink to cool off my neck, but a yelp behind me and that very specific curse let me know he’d found it.

 

I wasn’t even embarrassed walking out of the bathroom: I just felt as haggard as I looked. Once again, I stopped at the glass double doors, wondering if I should really go get in the truck. I could see Stranger Danger outside waiting by it, grumpier than I’d ever seen him all day. His face was stony, his arms crossed, and his keys swinging impatiently from one finger. The middle one, of course, because obviously he knew I was looking and couldn’t help but make a subtle dig at me. I still hadn’t decided as he got grumpier and grumpier. Just as it looked like he was about to give up waiting, I pushed through the glass doors with a deep breath that didn’t do much to calm me. By the time I got over to the truck, he had already hopped in and started it. I timidly knocked on the passenger window and he unlocked my door with a glare. Boy, was this going to be one wild ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all I have so far, folks! I'm currently in the middle of chapter eight, but I'll try to get it done soon. Let me know what you think so far. This one is going to be a monster, basically three novels in one. But this beginning part with Frank and Toni getting to know each other is the longest. Maybe 20+ chapters.


	9. The One We've Been Waiting For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t even give me a chance to answer. “Fuhget homework, fuhget ren’vatin’! Yer gon’ talk, Toni. Yer gon’ talk ri’now an’ tell me why.” When angry, his accent seemed to slip a bit, struggling to become something else. There was also a growl to it. I was terrified. And I didn’t understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a video of the [creak, hiss, and slam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KFSMY6tRufc&index=46&list=PLXkX_ef0KZjMe5bG9ocQuwNqvgB-cD4Iu&t=0s) a screen door makes that I'm always describing, for those of you who have never heard this wholesome sound.
> 
> And here is the Cajun legend Justin Wilson on his cooking show, so you can finally actually hear what [a Cajun accent](https://www.facebook.com/Jerniganlanding/videos/vb.495824617177580/1578331882260176/?type=2&theater) sounds like.

It was far too quiet. Not in the car. Oh, no. Stranger Danger had turned on some rare heavy metal station and practically cranked it to MAX, so the car had plenty of noise. What was quiet was us. The deafening volume emphasized that even more. I was quiet, well, because you know why and I shouldn’t have to say so at this point. It was Stranger Danger that was weird. He wasn’t nagging or even being the least bit scary or annoying like usual. He was fuming, which was terrifying in a whole different way. We were both tense the whole ride and for once I had no idea what to expect from him or what he was even getting at. Which would have been kind of refreshing in a way if he hadn’t turned into a frickin’ ticking time bomb next to me.

His parking jolted both of us and his truck let out a shriek, too. He wrenched the key out of the ignition, threw himself outta the car, and flung the door hard enough to make the window crack a bit. I could hear his heavy breath as he grabbed our bags and stalked around the truck. I stayed right where I was.

This was bad. This was very bad. This was beyond bad and way too far into “you better cross yourself and pray for mercy” territory. A few deep breaths and I reached for the handle, carefully opening the door. Stranger Danger was already clomping through the screen door with both our bags. I was so not ready for this.

 

The screen door shrieked closed behind me. It was still shocking how dark and dusty it was in here. I wondered once again how Stranger Danger even lived in all this. And why was it always so dusty?

Stranger Danger had stalked just a few steps in and simply dropped both our bags, spinning around to come face-to-face with me when I stepped through the door. He was still seething. “Why them?” He didn’t even give me a chance to answer. “Fuhget homework, fuhget ren’vatin’! Yer gon’ talk, Toni. Yer gon’ talk ri’now an’ tell me why. Why ah  _ those _ yer frens?” When angry, his accent seemed to slip a bit, struggling to become something else. There was also a growl to it. I was terrified. And I didn’t understand.

I kept quiet. My lips tightened closed even more than usual. He seethed.

“Why. ‘R those people. Yer frens?” That? That was why he was so mad? It would have been hilarious, snort-worthy even, if I hadn’t felt so pinned in, even though he hadn’t moved an inch toward me. He was getting angrier the longer I didn’t answer. But I didn’t really know how to respond. I mean, obviously I wasn’t going to talk like he wanted me to anyway, but even if I were I wouldn’t know what to say to placate him. Why were those people my friends? Hell if I knew! The mute girl was just a snob-magnet, Lord knows why.

So I just did what anyone else would: I shrugged. Apparently, this was not the right decision.

There was suddenly an extremely loud honk as Stranger Danger wrenched one of the barstools out from the kitchen island. “Sit.  **_Now_ ** .” He didn’t give me much room for argument. And, trust me, it wasn’t for lack of trying.

I was going to sit. I really was. But his sudden movement had kinna stirred up the majority of the nasty air around us and I had to wave it away from my nose and mouth and cough a bit.  _ Why _ was it so  _ dusty _ in here?

“The house was empty fer a long time, Toni. The’s gon’ be dust! Now stop changin’ the su’ject an’  _ sit _ .” Okay, I grinned at that. Funny how I could not even say a word and I was “changing the subject.” It also wasn’t lost on me that for once  _ I  _  was the one getting under  _ his _ skin. I’ll be honest: I kinna basked in that. Turnabout’s fair play, Stranger Danger. I did sit, though, and so did he.

It was tense for a minute or two. Stranger Danger stared at me and I stared back. I wasn’t giving in, and if that meant looking my fellow Death in the face, I’d do it. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak then shut it again. Then he swallowed and shifted on his stool.

“Toni, uv ah people, why them?” I understood what he was getting at, but I really thought about being stubborn. I hardened my gaze. I didn’t need to explain anything to him. Waste of oxygen. Instead, I shrugged again. I mean, it was kind of the truth. I didn’t know. Not like  _ I _ chose these people. And how was it his business who my friends were? He didn’t deserve an answer. Who was he to judge my friends?!

I just got angrier the longer I sat there not answering. And the fact that he expected me to answer! Why did everyone just assume they could  **_make_ ** me speak?  **_I wasn’t a dog_ ** . What, did Stranger Danger think that now that Mom had us being friendly he controlled who my friends were? If I spoke? Who I spoke to?  **_Hell no_ ** !

Another loud honk rang out as I basically vaulted out of my chair. I was going home. Who cares what Mom said? There was no way I was sitting here and taking this.

I was almost to the door and still no sound from Stranger Danger. That kind of irked me for some reason. Why was I concerned whether he was angry or not? His opinion meant nothing! And yet…

Still hearing no protest from him, I turned around and almost yelled “WHAT?!” But I kept my mouth shut tight and just levelled him with a look. Stranger Danger didn’t even respond, just sat there with an equally pissed off look.

Fine. Stalemate. Whatever.

I let my hand drop from the handle and flop to my thigh, the screen door hissing and slamming closed just inches beyond my nose. And then, I don’t know, I was deflating. The past 72 hours of fear and anger and very little sleep or food, and whatever I did eat coming right back up, weighed down on me all at once. In record time, my back was against the wall and the weight of all of it sent me sliding down to the floor. I was  _ exhausted _ . At this point, I just didn’t care anymore. I was stuck circling a maelstrom, Stranger Danger at its center.

A growl erupted from his mouth and suddenly he was by my side, curling up and sighing angrily. “ _ Fine _ …” His nails scratched at one leg of his jeans and he tried to meet my eyes, but I was purposely hanging my head low. “Ah’ll drop et, Toni. Jus’ one las’ thing.” He shifted uncomfortably, turning more towards me. “The’s  _ far _ bettah people ta be ‘round.”

I scoffed loudly, and its echo drifted nicely through the empty house. My hope was Stranger Danger could read the sardonic “Like you?” within.

It took him a minute but eventually he huffed out “ _ Yes _ , Toni. ‘Like me’ was s’posed ta be ‘mplied.” Stranger Danger nudged at me with the toe of his sneaker. “So...ya wanna work on homework?”

I just let my head fall lower in response.

“Righ’...” Silence reigned for the next few minutes, and even though Stranger Danger preferred not to be noticed, I could tell he wanted to fill the quiet with anything. For the first minute, I could spy him sorting through the cigarette carpet, flicking butts away and casting any of use into a pile. That was honestly the first thing that needed to be done here. For the next few minutes, after he’d sorted through all the cigarettes in a foot radius, he drummed out a mellow beat with his hands and the toes of his sneakers, gently bobbing his head. At this, I peeked out even more, intrigued. Whenever he finished whatever song was stuck in his head, he scratched at his face and ruffled his hair and popped his jaw. At this point, I gave up trying to pretend I was ignoring him. It angered me to admit, but even without the fidgeting he’d become impossible to ignore over the past three years. I swivelled to level him with a petty glare and felt a cigarette crumble beneath my butt.  _ Gross _ !

Automatically, I rose and wiped off the back of my jeans, dusted off my hands, and started sweeping the cigarettes from my spot into a pile. And it just...continued. Next thing I knew, Stranger Danger and I were gathering cigarettes into a pile and working our way around the house, adding to it. I’d had to convince him not to hoard anything that wasn’t a butt, however small, and begrudgingly he’d added his sorted ones into our ever-growing trash pile. And it just...kept continuing. Silently, we cleaned together and it was...actually relaxing. Slowly, we started to make progress and I couldn’t help but smile. This felt  _ effortless _ . At some point, Stranger Danger had disappeared and a half-hour after he reappeared there was suddenly pizza. I hadn’t even known he’d had a phone to order. Stranger Danger had moved to dig right in, but I’d just stared at him cooly until he closed the box and had, thoroughly chastised, led me to the bathroom. We’d washed our hands side by side and he’d flicked water and soap spitefully in my direction. I’d almost laughed when I’d seen the hand soap, reminded of just yesterday (It felt like years ago) when he’d scared the crap out of me. And then here we were, curled up in the corner instead of on his barstools, eating the greasiest and meatiest pizza known to man. And it just felt  _ easy _ .

Afterward, we washed our hands in somber silence and did our homework in the same. He had crappy lighting, so I had to give up halfway through for fear of hurting my eyes, and Stranger Danger chuckled. “Brain dead?”

Why yes, yes I was actually; so I just nodded and shoved my books in my bag.

His books were snapped closed and he rose, scratching at his neck. “See ya?” What was supposed to be a statement came out more like an awkward question.

Still in sort of a spell, I never really answered, just waved behind me as I slammed through the screen door and listened to it hiss closed behind me, never looking back as I loped home.

 

The spell faltered a bit, but never really left; even as Mom questioned me as I got ready for bed; even as I did the rest of my homework; even as I passed out for the night. It continued on in the morning, right up until I willingly climbed those steps and faced Stranger Danger again. The spell dropped like a lead balloon.

He cleared his throat and asked the same question almost the same way as yesterday: “Wanna cawfee?” And against my best intentions, the allure of magic beans pulled me through the screen door.

Wow… I hadn’t realized all the work we’d really done until entering the house again. All the surfaces were clean and the floor didn’t crumble under you anymore. It still reeked, but mostly because of the pile still in the corner and the fact that Stranger Danger was puffing away on a cancer stick. Thankfully, though, it looked as if he’d repurposed a poor Tupperware as an ashtray instead of literally any surface around him.

“B’ack, as per u’al, ‘uh?” His teeth clenched around a cigarette made his accent and abbreviation of words multiply by ten, almost as indecipherable as Mom when she was upset. I nodded minutely and just stood there, warring with myself mentally. What was I supposed to make of the past 48 hours?

 

And then...everything continued much like yesterday, with the fortunate exception of my actually eating and keeping it down. We slurped coffee, drove the short trip to school, endured persistent teachers, ate lunch with CeCe & Co., had a silent and angry ride back home, and fought about my “friends” again. Thirty minutes later, we found ourselves cleaning again. Then, just like yesterday, we ate, worked on homework, and went our separate ways.

Thursday and Friday went the same, toggling the spell on when we cleaned, either out of anger or boredom, and off when I saw Stranger Danger again. Until I woke up naturally early on Saturday and spied the broom in the corner of the kitchen while making coffee and thought how much the dust as ash all along those floorboards needed a good sweep. So I grabbed the broom and dustpan, snagging a trash bag when I remembered about that pile of cigarette butts in the corner, and dashed over next door. I rapped on the door twice with the broom, hands full, and waited. Maybe it was the thrill of finally having a plan in place for cleaning, but I was kinda...happy? I bounced on the balls of my feet as I waited, pent-up energy making me jittery. The spell dropped in a completely different, heavier way when  Stranger Danger wrenched the door open with a loud squeal, angry and in disbelief. And in pyjamas. Slowly, I gazed down at myself: 80s band sweatshirt and pink plaid pyjama pants. My hand, still clutching the broom, automatically rose to feel my hair back in a headband, making it a bit like lion’s mane.

“Toni…” Stranger Danger started, confused and amused and angry all at once. “Et’s Satahday…” He peered at me blearily, words slurred a bit by sleep.

All I could do was hold up the trash bag and broom with a sheepish grin. Begrudgingly, he let me in, grumbling and ambling over to the coffee maker like a zombie. And then, after a silent-for-once coffee break (making me realize I’d skipped out on my own) we began to sweep and fill the bag up, for the first time not motivated by anger or boredom. We just...did. In silence, but, like every time, it was incredibly easy.

Was this what it felt like to have a friend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know how the pacing is. It feels really natural for them, but I don't know how well that transfers to readers. I think this is by far my favourite chapter I've written.


	10. GOOD NEWS!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Thank you for your interest in this story! Unfortunately, I won't be updating any time soon...because I am now a published author! Check out the link below to my debut novel.

     Plethora turns even the most hardy defenseless and overwhelmed. In a world intent on destroying humanity, five Survivors wonder if it is really worth fighting for.  
     Check out my debut novel, [Reprogrammed: Book One](http://www.blurb.com/b/9295239-reprogrammed), the first book in the Reprogrammed Trilogy.


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